


The Gift

by glitterburn (orphan_account)



Category: Chiu Bau Dai Jong | Bar Bender
Genre: F/M, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-26
Updated: 2006-02-26
Packaged: 2017-10-19 12:17:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/200774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/glitterburn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony Cheung had never made her cry, but today he had come damn close.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gift

Tony Cheung was working late again.

Lora watched the clock above the door. It was almost sixteen minutes past seven. She had heard the footsteps and conversation of the other workers as they’d left over an hour ago. Since then, she’d heard only the sound of her fingers on the keyboard. Occasionally, if she really listened for it, she could hear the shirr of paper being moved across his desk in his office.

She did not clock-watch for herself, but for Tony. Months ago – or it could have been years ago now, Lora couldn’t remember – his wife had asked her if she would remind him to go home once in a while.

His wife had only been half-joking. Everybody knew that lawyers worked hard, but Tony’s dedication to his job had resulted in the offer of a partnership, an increased caseload, a ludicrous salary, and a marriage that was collapsing without him even noticing it.

The divorce papers had arrived by motorcycle courier. Mrs Cheung was no fool: lawyers could stall anything given enough warning, and so the courier had stood and waited by the door for Tony’s response.

He’d put his signature on the papers with the same detachment he showed towards signing off loan approvals. Lora had slopped coffee over his desk when she watched him do it, stunned by his lack of emotion. Then, once the courier had gone on his way carrying the fragile burden of a failed marriage, Tony had shouted at her for spilling the coffee, and she saw for the first time how much he was hurting.

It was always a bad idea to get involved with one’s boss. Lora had seen it happen plenty of times before. The perky, pretty young secretary with her neat skirt-suits and youthful enthusiasm who fell for the boss, who worked longer hours to make him notice her, who cheerfully and a little smugly bought birthday gifts for his wife, who listened to his problems and was so very efficient and capable and understanding that he couldn’t do without her…

Yes, Lora had seen those girls before, and they all ended up the same: quitting their jobs when he wouldn’t commit, wouldn’t leave his wife, couldn’t put up with her demands on top of the demands of the job.

Better to be like Lora, who sailed through life with snappy comebacks and shot down any man who tried to flirt with her. They thought she was taken and admired the way she kept her private life separate from her workplace. She was hardworking, loyal, and didn’t gossip. When her previous boss retired to play golf in England, the partners fought over which of them would retain her services.

She chose Tony.

He was everything she disliked in a man, and therefore everything she wanted. Handsome, elegant and arrogant, he was oblivious to everything but his work unless it was advantageous for his work for him to notice something. Calculated, cold and incisive he might be, but he had long legs and graceful hands and the kind of body made for tailored suits and the flutter of legal robes.

Fortunately, he was married. Lora didn’t do married men, no matter how handsome and charming they were. The fact that Tony had a vile temper helped; the fact that he could make her laugh, and that she made him laugh, did not.

She was in lust with him by the end of the first week. By the close of the month, she thought she was in love with him. Lora kept it to herself: a closed, hothouse love like a rare flower that bloomed only under certain conditions. She knew better than to let him know how she felt. It never did to flatter a man’s ego.

If she allowed her mind to drift at all in his direction, it would not be to indulge in some racy fantasy about him taking off his clothes. Rather she imagined him keeping them on, perhaps only going so far as to loosen his tie and maybe opening that first button beneath his collar.

Lora found her mind wandering often to his ties. They became something of a fetish. The dark green one with pale blobs. The dark blue one with the stripes. The lilac one with the shimmer of satin running through it. She found herself wanting to straighten them even though they were perfectly straight to begin with. She wanted to tuck his collar over them and smooth them down his chest.

Occasionally, when the air conditioning broke down and when it was too hot outside, he would take off his jacket and pull at his tie. She would stare at him covetously until he noticed, and then he would look embarrassed, as if he thought she was gazing at him in disapproval.

Lora would feel frustrated, then. She was older than him, closer to forty than to thirty-five, and he was not quite thirty-two. Of course he would look at her as if she were a school marm. With her sensible working clothes, dark-rimmed spectacles and no-nonsense attitude, what else could she expect?

* * *

The clock said seven thirty-three.

Lora closed down her computer and went to his door. He always left it slightly ajar whenever he wasn’t with a client. When she’d asked him why, he replied that he liked to hear her working. She’d never known whether or not he’d meant to be funny with that comment. Now, when she knocked lightly, he didn’t seem to hear her at all.

“Tony,” she said.

He glanced up. He looked tired. His fringe was mussed from where he’d run his fingers through it too often whenever he’d leaned one hand against his forehead. His tie was loosened around his collar, but he still wore his jacket.

He smiled. “Lora.”

She took this as a good sign, and continued, “You know what day it is today?”

His expression went blank. “Your birthday? No – that’s not until next month.”

Lora couldn’t quite manage a smile in response. “You wouldn’t forget that.”

“As if I could. As if you’d let me forget.” Tony went back to scanning the papers in front of him. “You always give me advance warning. Two weeks’ advance warning, in fact. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes.”

Still she hesitated. She saw his mood go from puzzlement to annoyance, and when he glanced up again, he was frowning. “So what is it?”

Lora hated herself for having to say it. “Today is Ting Ting’s birthday.”

Tony stared at her. He looked uncomprehending, as if she’d spoken in Hindi or Hungarian. Then he looked away and said, “I know.”

She knew he’d forgotten. “Tony…”

“I know!” He threw down his Mont Blanc pen with so much force that the ink spattered across the court papers, a splash of royal blue across the black typeface and the thick white paper.

Lora took a step backwards. She was not scared of his temper, but she was wary of his tongue. Most of the lawyers she’d worked for were eloquent only in court, preferring to spend their office time conversing in monosyllables; but Tony had a rapier wit and handled words like weapons even when he was off-duty. When he was angry or upset, his wit became biting, all cold steel and sharp points. He could – and had, on more than one occasion – reduced women to tears. She counted herself fortunate that he had never managed to do that to her.

Now he looked devastated.

“I didn’t know,” he said softly. “I forgot.”

She tried to comfort him. “It’s all right. Everybody forgets an important birthday once in a while.”

“It’s not all right.” He shook his head. “I’ve never forgotten yours.”

“We work together.”

“Yes.” Tony’s frown deepened. “That means I see you more than her. I know you better than I know my own child. What does that say about me, Lora?”

She lifted her hands in a helpless gesture. “It means you work too hard.”

He sat forwards over the papers and put his head in his hands, vulnerable for a moment. He only ever did that in front of her. “What shall I do?”

It was a cry he often made whenever real life events overtook him, and she was helpless to resist it. Lora came over to his desk and asked, “How old is she?”

Tony retrieved his pen and put it to one side. He searched his desk for a piece of blotting paper and mopped the ink splotches from the court documents. Studied nonchalance always hid the fact that he had no immediate answer. Finally he leaned back in his chair.

“She’s eight. No, nine. My God, I don’t even know how old my daughter is.” He closed his eyes and rubbed at his forehead. “Nine. She’s nine.”

Lora glanced at the case notes on his desk. It was important – they were all important, of course, but this was more important than the rest: the client was a major international corporation accused of defrauding its shareholders. Until this case was closed, he would not have time to sleep, let alone find a birthday gift for his daughter.

“Let me get her something,” she said. “The market is still open. My niece is ten. I know what to buy for a little girl.”

“Something pink,” Tony said with a wry smile.

“Ting Ting likes blue.”

The smile faded. “You know my daughter better than I do.”

“As I said – you work too hard,” Lora repeated with emphasis.

Tony pushed aside the papers and looked at her. “So do you.”

She shrugged.

“No, really – you do. You work the same hours as me.” He frowned again. “Do you get paid overtime?”

“Yes. You authorised it two years ago.”

His expression brightened. “Ah, good. I would hate to take advantage of you.”

Their gazes clashed. They both looked away.

“Of your good nature, I mean,” Tony added.

Lora felt her heart thud. “I knew what you meant.”

“I rely on you too much,” he said, and smiled as if to say he didn’t believe it.

She returned his smile, complicit: and then, deliberately, she broke the mood. “Let me run down to the market and fetch something for Ting Ting,” she said. “I’ll be half an hour.”

Tony tilted his head, as if he was not quite sure what had passed between them and he did not want to let it go. Then he reached into his jacket for his wallet. He flipped it open, withdrew several high denomination notes, and held them out. “Here. Take this.”

As she leaned across the desk to take the money, she saw his gaze fasten on the sway of her breasts beneath her neat blue blouse. She felt the switch, the moment of tension as he went from being Tony the lawyer to Tony the man, and it was so fast she caught her breath.

“Pearls,” he said. “You always wear pearls. Where did you get them?”

She wanted to tell him that they’d been a gift from her grandmother, chosen out of an old tea caddy that had been heaped high with jewellery real and fake; but the words didn’t come. She stared at him, at his hand as he dropped the folded money and reached up to brush his fingertips against the pearls.

“Are they real?” he asked, and his voice was so soft she almost didn’t hear him over the frantic beating of her heart.

Lora nodded. She wet her lips with her tongue, regretting it when that brought his attention to her mouth. “I – I think so,” she said.

He touched the pearls again, hooking his forefinger over them and pulling at the necklace. It was a playful gesture, she supposed, but he had already crossed the line between professionalism and intimacy, and she no longer knew what he intended.

The necklace strained, biting through her blouse. She leaned forwards a little. He tugged harder, sharp and impatient, and she felt the diamante clasp break.

Tony looked startled when the necklace slithered free. He caught it before it fell to the desk, turning his hand so that they both looked at the gleaming rope of pearls coiled in his palm.

Before he could apologise, Lora said, “It’s okay. The clasp is faulty. It breaks sometimes. It can be fixed.”

He brought it closer and examined the clasp. “It’s old,” he said. “You should buy yourself a new one.”

“That’s not the point.”

He fiddled with it, using the nib of his Mont Blanc to tease the mechanism back into place. His concentration was absolute, as if he knew what he was doing, as if he were a jeweller rather than a lawyer.

The clasp snapped shut. With a smile of triumph, Tony held up the necklace. “Here. Fixed it. I won’t even charge you.”

“Good,” Lora said. “You’d charge me per hour like a lawyer, not for the job you did, like a tradesman. It’d be daylight robbery.”

He glanced out of the window. “It’s night-time.”

“Perceptive. I’m surprised you noticed.”

The pearls swung from his outstretched fingers. “I notice a lot of things.”

She reached for them, but he closed his hand around the necklace before she could touch it. His eyes glittered and his smile became dangerous. “Come and get it.”

She tried again to grab the pearls, but he moved his hand back, too fast.

“Be nice to me,” he said.

“Nice?” Lora stepped back, refusing to play. “I’m always nice to you.”

“You’re the only woman that is.”

“That’s because I know you.”

“That’s because I pay you.”

“Maybe.”

He opened his hand, the pearls lying there gleaming, tempting her to take them. She came forwards again, irritated by his game and also a little flattered that he would want to flirt with her like this.

She extended her hand for the necklace. “I should go before the market shuts.”

Tony stood up, still holding the pearls. “Of course. But first, allow me…”

Lora stared at him. He raised his eyebrows and dangled the necklace, a lure to bring her closer. She wanted to tell him that she was quite capable of putting on her own necklace, but somehow the words didn’t come to her lips. Instead, she went nearer and turned her back to him.

He stood behind her and looped the pearls around her neck. Lora bowed her head slightly so he could close the clasp. She heard the tiny sound it made as it clicked shut. Now she could move away. But she didn’t, and neither did he.

Tony let his fingers rest on the back of her neck, above the collar of her blouse. She always wore her hair upswept and pinned to keep it out of her way. Now she wished she’d worn it down. His touch was disconcerting, warm and intimate.

Her breath caught as he slid his hand over her shoulder to the front of her blouse. She didn’t dare look down, but felt every tiny motion as he slowly unfastened the top three buttons. Then he lifted the necklace free of her collar and settled it against her bare skin.

“Pearls should be worn against the warmth of your skin if you want them to keep their lustre,” he said, his voice soft and husky.

Lora’s rationality deserted her. “I know. My mother told me the same thing.”

He stroked the pearls, his fingers trailing over her skin. “Mother knows best.”

“And she warned me about men like you.”

“Men like me.” Tony turned her around to face him. “What did she say?”

“She said: ‘Don’t get in their way’.”

He smiled. “You’re not in my way. You’re always by my side.”

Lora barely had time to register this when he kissed her. Softly at first, as if he thought she would pull away; but when she moved against him, the kiss warmed, sparked into life, and consumed them both.

It would be too forward to put her arms around him. She lifted her hands and pressed them against his chest, feeling the cotton of his shirt and the silky rub of his tie. There was the scent of his cologne, expensive and French, a lingering sweetness with a hint of sharp bitters. She’d asked him once what it was called. _L’Egoiste_ , he’d said and smiled, as if it had been named for him.

He tasted of the coffee she’d made for him. He always drank coffee, never tea. Black coffee, coffee with cream, cappuccino, espresso – whatever was fashionable, and quite often what was not, he would drink it. He liked to say he was a connoisseur. Perhaps he was. Lora didn’t know anything about coffee, except how to make it. She took it as a compliment that he always drank what she gave him.

This afternoon had been black coffee, sweet and strong. She could taste it on his tongue. Perhaps it was the caffeine that made her feel so nervous and yet so alive, the two emotions conflicting and roiling in her belly. She felt jumpy, wicked, as if she was the one seducing him, even though it seemed to be a perfectly mutual agreement.

His hands went to her waist. She could feel the warmth of his fingers through the silk of her blouse. It was almost impersonal, as if they could step apart in the next moment and laugh it off as meaningless. Lora realised that he was seeking permission to take it further. She put her arms around him and pressed closer.

Tony deepened the kiss. His hands splayed out, spanning her buttocks. He steered her towards the desk and she went limp in his embrace. She stifled a giggle as he picked her up and put her on top of his case notes – papers she’d typed for him, and that he’d annotated. Now they were closer. It was easier to kiss him.

He pushed her jacket off her shoulders. It tangled around her elbows, but she didn’t care. He broke the kiss and licked along her jaw, down her throat to the exposed skin where her necklace rested. It tickled, and Lora squirmed, hearing the sound of paper shifting beneath her.

He kissed the pearls. She felt his breath and the warmth of his lips across her skin. He nuzzled into the open neckline of her blouse, his tongue tasting the softness of her cleavage. When she made a noise of encouragement, he nipped at her breasts through the silk and lace that covered them.

She parted her knees so he could get closer. He eased her back onto the desk, one arm supporting her. The feel of his suit against the inside of her legs was as maddening as she’d imagined. A sharp stab of desire twisted through her, and she brought him closer.

He pushed up her skirt, his hand sliding up her thigh. She felt a moment of embarrassment at the fact that she was wearing normal cotton underwear. If she’d been able to plan this, she’d have worn something satin and sinful. Not that he seemed to care what she wore; his only interest was in stripping her out of it.

And then he pulled her towards him. She felt the hard length of him through the exquisite dark blue worsted, and tilted her hips, rubbing herself against him shamelessly.

He looked startled, and then laughed. “Lora!”

She moved restlessly. Her breath came in hard, clipped pulls. She wanted to feel Tony inside her. Her hands curled around the lapels of his jacket, pulling him down, pulling him closer. She rocked against him, feeling the full length of his erection against her. She needed to feel him completely, needed to know…

She reached down between them and unzipped his trousers, guided more by instinct than experience. When she touched him, he bucked into her hand and growled softly. Her grip was tight as she moved her hand up his cock, then back down.

“You’re shaking,” he whispered.

“Yes.” She couldn’t tell him why. Desire forced her into silence. She clung tight and kissed him, grateful when he responded. His hand moved between her thighs, his fingers soon wet. He groaned; moved closer, leaning into her, aligning their bodies.

And then he hesitated. “Is it – are you…”

For a moment, she had no idea what he meant. Realisation came a second later. If she said no, this would be over, and it would never happen again. An instant’s decision coalesced years of wanting. She said, “It’s okay.” He could assume anything from that.

He didn’t look in her eyes when he took her. His gaze fastened on the pearls. His concentration was intense and absolute. She should have known that he’d make love the same way he did everything else, losing himself in it but still maintaining control. She wondered if he ever let himself go. She knew now that it would not be with her.

It didn’t hurt. She’d expected to feel some sort of pain, like the books and magazines described, but really, losing her virginity was completely painless. Lora supposed that at her age there wasn’t much left to lose. It felt strange, but pleasant. She knew she must be tight around him, for Tony gave a deep, appreciative moan as he sank inside her. She wondered if he knew what she’d just given him.

Not that she’d been saving herself for her husband or for any other special reason. It just hadn’t seemed appropriate before, and as time went on it had become a guilty secret, and the thing with secrets is that they can become a habit.

She’d never meant for this to happen with Tony, but now it was happening, it seemed the best solution. She’d always wanted him: better to give in to it now, while she had the chance, and then they could get on with their normal working relationship. Nobody would know; nobody would get hurt. Lightning only struck once.

It would be simple.

Easy.

Wouldn’t it?

* * *

The desk was uncomfortable. Lora could feel the court papers beneath her, crushed and damp from their exertions. The clip of the Mont Blanc jabbed into her thigh. She ached from his possession, not just inside but also in the cradle of her hips and the long muscles of her legs.

She nudged against him, her movements no longer sensual but an unspoken command for him to move away. The nervousness she’d felt before had been replaced by calm. She’d done the right thing.

Lora kissed his forehead, wrinkling her nose as his hair tickled her face.

Tony withdrew from her. Now it was over, he looked dazed, as if wondering how it had happened. For once, it seemed, he had no witty one-liner to take command of the situation; but even in silence he was eloquent.

He helped her with her clothes, the perfect gentleman. The distance between them grew with each gesture, but even in their detachment they were bound in an intimacy they both knew would never be repeated.

She stood up. Her legs felt unsteady. She felt different, just as the magazines said. But something else had changed. Puzzled, she looked at Tony as he sat down in his chair and put his hands on the crumpled court papers, and then she knew what it was.

Lora touched the pearls at her throat and turned to leave the office.

He called her back as she reached the door. “Lora.”

She turned, but did not say anything.

He looked at her for a moment and then dropped his gaze. “Before you go… make me a coffee, please? Black. Three sugars.”

She raised her eyebrows. “And Ting Ting’s gift?”

He had the grace to blush slightly. “I’ll… I’ll give her the money.”

After all, it was still on his desk, where he’d dropped it.

* * *

Lora went to the ladies’ room and began to reapply her make-up with swift, practised gestures. Any damage was quickly repaired. If only everything in life could be this easy.

She put her powder and lipstick back into her purse and closed it with a snap. Then she curled both hands around the cold porcelain of the washbasin and looked at her reflection. She saw a woman immaculate and in control, a woman not at all in love with her boss, but rather a woman who understood him too well.

She saw the faintest glimmer of tears in her eyes.

Tony Cheung had never made her cry, but today he had come damn close.


End file.
